


Hard liquor with a bit of intellect

by huntersandangels



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Drunk Texting, M/M, Texting, maybe a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntersandangels/pseuds/huntersandangels
Summary: based on this tumblr prompt: “I accidentally drunk texted the wrong number and proposed to you and now you keep texting me and asking me the date and time of the wedding and if you should arrange the venue.”





	Hard liquor with a bit of intellect

**Author's Note:**

> I had this prompt written down ages ago and I unfortunately don’t have the link of the original post. If anyone knows the source please let me know.  
> It was supposed to be a quick, crack story in an attempt to get back to writing after an over a year and a half absence. Instead it turned into this! I’m still a bit rusty, so I hope it doesn’t suck.  
> Unbeta’d. All the mistakes are mine to make.  
> Title borrowed from Harry Styles’ song ‘Kiwi’ because if you can’t combine all the things you love what is the point, really?  
> (fun trivia: the working title was: “how to land yourself a husband: ½ a bottle of vodka & 6 devil shots edition.”)  
>  **Disclaimer** : The parts that aren’t true are obviously lies. I’m just ‘borrowing’ the boys for a little bit of fun.  
>  **Dedication** : to Z, who in a random conversation mentioned how much she misses my writing. No words are enough to describe the feeling I got from hearing that or to express my gratitude for her constant encouragement and support. (maybe next, she’ll learn to follow my advice as well!!)

 

Even with his eyes closed, Patrick can feel the whole room spinning. Behind his eyelids, colourful swirls are doing a crazy mating dance the way they blend together and then detatch. It feels like a push and pull that threatens to make him hurl. The fact that he downed half a bottle of vodka and six kinds of different shots probably made by the Devil himself is totally unrelated.

His mouth is drier than the Sahara desert and the attempt to moisten his poor chapped lips fails miserably when his tongue gets stuck in his bottom one instead. He can’t be bothered, he has more serious things to consider, like his imminent death and the fact that his tombstone would probably read “Here lies Patrick Kane, too weak to handle his liquor; too dumb to live to see 30… we told him so.”

He wishes he had made a will but imagining his sisters fighting over what he’d want each of them to have (not that he has that many possessions to begin with) amuses him to the point of attempting a chuckle. Instead, he gets a dry cough that makes his chest and throat burn. He kind of hates his life right now so maybe a quick, painless death would be a blessing. He just hopes Erica will be in charge of his funeral wardrobe. She knows how good he looks in blue… though black suits him just as well.

The choices are plenty and all this thinking is making his head throb harder but if you go you have to go in style; that’s his motto. That is, if he had one but of course he doesn’t because mottos are for pretentious, hippy assholes who want to feel one with the earth or some other bullshit like that- yet Patrick is the one currently on the verge of his demise. How is that fair, really?

 

***

 

Patrick isn’t quite sure when he fell asleep, probably somewhere between trying to decide the perfect funeral song and the most appropriate hex for the earth-loving hippies but he definitely knows when he comes into consciousness again.

It takes him four attempts to finally be able to open his eyes, (all the while fearing that his eyelashes had been glued together), and about half a second to go from ‘thank God, I’m alive’ to ‘oh God, please someone kill me,”.

His mouth feels like something dead has made a cosy nest inside it and the urge to throw up the liquid content of his stomach overwhelms him. He doesn’t want to drown in his own vomit but he doesn’t think he can make it to the bathroom either.

Neither happens because apparently God loves him and he is the genius who has decided to do a friend a solid and house Nick until the kid graduates in the summer. He makes a mental note to pat himself in the back later because at the moment the hammers in his head are trying to pulverize his brain.

He snatches the water bottle and the two white pills from the night stand but forgoes the bucket at his side, though he has an inkling he might need it later with how fast he swallows the pills and downs the water.

Before he surrenders himself back to his much needed sleep he grabs his phone to send Nick a text because he might be stupid and regret his life choices but he isn’t an ungrateful asshole.

He has a flair for the dramatic though, so his thank yous are far from mundane and trite. He has also perfected the art of half drunk texting and that bumps him up to genius levels once again.

 

_i wnt 2 run my fingers Thru yor silky drk hair._

_U R a gift frm god_

_i luv U_

_pls mari me_

He slumps down on his bed with a satisfied smirk on his lips and the mental image of a flustered Nick. Messing with the kid is one of his favourite past times.

 

***

 

It takes him about half a day to return to the land of the living, or something close to it, as he wobbles to the bathroom to get rid of the stench and then drags his feet to the kitchen for a much needed hydration.

There he finds Nick, hunched down to the table, nose buried in books.

“Hey, drunkard,” Nick greets him without even raising his head from his reading “There’s water and crackers in the counter for you. No coffee yet, ok?”

Patrick debates between kissing him and slapping him upside the head but does as he's told before he goes for a fake wounded look.

“Oh, my God, not even half a day engaged and the romance is already dead. Youth these days, you’re all so cynical.”

That gets a reaction from Nick at least, even if it’s just a roll of his eyes. “What the hell did you drink last night, man?”

Patrick smirks. “I don’t know but it was definitely good.”

Nick shakes his head. “Whatever. Thanks for not puking all over the place. I have three papers due on Monday and I don’t even have time to breathe.”

“Ok, you know what? I changed my mind. I don’t want to marry you anymore.” Patrick poses half a second for dramatic effect, “and I want the ring back.”

Nick chuckles since he’s a douchey millennial void of emotions. “Wow, I’m hurt. I was hoping to kill those sapphires for a deposit on a new apartment.”

Patrick lets out a wounded huff. “See if I propose to you again, you asshole!”

“You didn’t do it this time either, you moron. “ Nick deadpans. “What the hell kind of dream were you having?” The last one is said in a very weird and unspecified tone that Patrick kind of hates that he can’t decipher.

“Did too.” Patrick protests. “Send you a text and everything.”

“Wow, you’re the epitome of class, you are!” The sarcasm is heavy and rolls out of Nick’s tongue easily “but your phone keeps beeping with texts, so maybe someone else is the unlucky proposal recipient.”

Patrick follows Nick’s gesturing hand towards the other side of the counter where he can see his phone lay and has half a fond thought for Nick, who probably snatched it from his bedroom as not to wake him up, but retracts it immediately when he remembers what a jerk he is being.

“This is the thanks I get for taking you in and rescuing you from the Ryan/Vinnie sex-a-thons. I should have let them scar your young, impressionable eyes.” No one fakes wounded and indignant better than Patrick. He can do a mean guilt tripping as well, even if he hates himself so bad for it afterwards because he reminds him too much of his parents.

He regrets it even more when Nick turns to him with wide eyes filled with remorse which has no business being there because the kid is seriously awesome and Patrick would adopt him in a heartbeat if he wasn’t already an adult.

“Patrick, you know I’m grate-“

Patrick waves his hand dismissively. “Forget about it kid,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Nick’s hair; trying to at least, with all that crap he puts on it.   “I’m just being a grumpy dick, ok? You’re great.”

Nick gives him a bashful smile in return that makes Patrick feel less of a fuck up so he decides to quit while he’s ahead. He grabs his phone “I’ll be in my room, come get me when you take a break. We’ll have an early dinner,” he pauses, contemplating the fact that it’s three in the afternoon and he hasn’t had anything to eat all day, “or a late lunch, or whatever. Pizza. My treat, ok?”

 

***

 

The good news is that he fortunately hasn’t proposed to any of his relatives, -and that thought is enough to make him shudder and feel nauseated once again-, or his co-workers, because that would make for an awkward Monday morning and he doesn’t think he can handle that.

The bad news is that whoever this unknown number belongs to, is clearly deranged.

Patrick lost count of the number of answering texts even if there was a numbered bubble on his folder and is himself a math genius.

 

It goes like this:

 

**Who is this? I don’t know this number?**

**Are you drunk?**

**Your grammar is appalling!**

**I apologise. That was uncalled for.**

**I’ve never been proposed to before. I don’t know the protocol.**

**What is your name?**

**Shouldn’t we date first?**

**Unless you’re under-aged. Then I’d have to decline.**

**Also warn you of the thing called stranger danger.**

**But then I guess you wouldn’t be allowed to drink so that’s a relief.**

**Unless you’re a lady. I’m sure you’re lovely but I … let’s say I’m otherwise inclined.**

 

Patrick can’t even believe people like this exist. And it gets…worse?

 

**I’m male by the way.**

**Incredibly flattered as well. Maybe we should talk. This is a matter that requires a lot of thought.**

**And a ring, of course.**

 

There seems to be a vast amount of time between this person’s next group of replies, but they are the ones that manage to leave Patrick opened mouthed in shock. Is this person _serious_?

 

**Maybe I should accept after all. My maman always assured me I’ll make a great husband.**

**And stability in the personal field improves work productivity.**

**Congratulations to us! We’re officially engaged.**

**Oh, and my ring size is 12.**

 

***

 

Patrick does not have a weak moment of imagining those thick fingers doing unspeakable things to him. He. Does. Not.

Ok, so maybe he does a bit. Sue him. He is a hot-blooded male who hasn’t gotten laid in God knows how long.

Shame is what pushes his horniness aside and shoots a quick message to the poor guy, who with Patrick’s luck is probably a live-in patient to some psychiatric institution.

 

_I was drunk last night. I texted the wrong number. Forget the whole thing._

_And I apologise for the inconvenience._

 

He settles his phone beside him and tries to deny even himself how good it felt for someone to take him seriously in the matters of the heart even if that person is probably off his rockers.

Patrick kind of gets lonely sometimes. That was partly why he agreed for Nick to stay with him. It would have been nice to be half a part of a couple. The sigh that escapes from his lips is deep and full of regret.

 

His phone chimes and startles him. It keeps beeping even as Patrick tries to pick it up.

 

**Are you feeling, ok?**

**Drink a lot of water and eat something solid.**

Before Patrick can finish reading, the bubble appears again. The back to back messages seem frantic.

 

**Did I say something wrong?**

**You don’t have to get me a ring, even if it is customary.**

**We can save up and buy something equally nice and affordable.**

**I already told my friends I’m engaged.**

**They were shocked I ever did something spontaneously.**

**They don’t think I know how to have fun.**

**Is that why you’re backing out?**

**Do you think I’m boring?**

 

Patrick sits there wide-eyed, reading every word and though his brain understands English, he still can’t process what exactly is happening right now. Still, all that Catholic guilt creeps up to him and he feels the need to at least reply.

 

_Uhm… you seem nice enough. Also, definitely not boring. But… I don’t know you?_

 

He forms it as a question because it wouldn’t be the first time he had saved a number with no name in his phone. Hooking up half-drunk was something he used to do a lot when he was going through his issues so there’s a great possibility it’s a remainder of his more shameful days.

 

**Oh… uh, thanks.**

**I’m  Jonathan. But you can call me Jonny since we’re engaged.**

**I’m 30 years old. Born April 29.**

**That makes me a Taurus.**

**I’m a greenhouse manager and originally from Canada.**

**So, I guess you kind of do?**

 

Patrick’s headache makes a major comeback and his stomach rumbles, alerting him it’s time to give it some sustenance. He doesn’t have time for this weirdness. He abandons his phone and goes to strong-arm Nick away from his books.

 

***

 

Patrick doesn’t know why it comes as such a surprise to him when he gets back from hanging out with Nick with a full stomach and a much reduced headache to find a couple of messages from Jonny.

 

**_Brent asked for my fiancé’s name._ **

**_I knew I forgot something._ **

****

**_Oh, I guess you’re busy._ **

**_We’ll talk later._ **

 

For some weird, inexplicable reason Patrick answers back.

 

_I’m Patrick._

 

The reply he expects almost instantaneously doesn’t come. Patrick doesn’t want to say he’s a bit disappointed but he feels it nonetheless.

In fact, the next text from Jonny doesn’t come until noon Sunday, almost out of the blue and at a time Patrick has almost forgotten this whole thing had happened.

 

**Are you religious? Do we need a church?**

**I’m more of a spiritual person. How do you feel about a forest wedding?**

 

Patrick groans at that. Of course he’d attract the hippy-dippy lunatic. He’s that unlucky.

“Bad news?” Nick asks, voice half teasing half tilting on the verge of concern.

“It’s that guy again. Jonny.” He tries to act all put out but he kind of secretly likes the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten. People tend to dismiss him pretty quickly. “One accidental, drunken proposal and this dude can’t quit it. What’s next? China patterns and name suggestions for our imaginary kids? He’s a head case.”

“I think it’s sweet. You’re very lucky.” Nick says.

Patrick raises his brow in question, waiting for him to elaborate.

Nick fidgets in his seat. “I mean… You accidentally found a guy, a gay guy I might add, who doesn’t care what you look like or how much you make and he’s sweet and considerate even though you were a bit of a rude jerk. What more can you ask for?”

Patrick ponders it for a few seconds. He doesn’t like it when other people make sense. He quickly comes to his senses and raises his protest. “But he doesn’t _know_ me. What the hell kind of crazy person accepts a marriage proposal from a stranger? I might be an axe-murderer or a black market organ dealer or whatever!”

“Maybe he believes in fate.” Nick deadpans.

“Oh, great!” Patrick huffs, running his finger through his way too long top hair curls (shut up Nick, thinning isn’t balding!) that doesn’t seem to want to co-operate today. “A tree-hugging, earth-loving, we’re one with the universe bullshit freak!”

Nick pats him gently on the shoulder. “You could do a lot worse. In fact, you already have.”

“Shut up!” Patrick shoves him not so gently. “I haven’t still excluded the possibility he is a psychiatric ward resident.”

Nick nods his head profusely. “Probably, to want to be married to you!”

“Yeah! See? I’m right!” Patrick exclaims before the words actually register to his brain. “Oh, fuck off you asshole. You’d be so lucky to be this great.” He says, gesturing up and down himself.

Nick just snorts and that earns him another hard shove.

At the same moment Patrick phone chimes again.

Nick shoves him back and gets up from the couch. “Go make some more wedding plans with your fiancé. I need to finish my paper.”

Patrick is torn between verbally attacking the kid and reading whatever crazy thing his not-fiancé has to say. His curiosity wins in the end.

 

**It doesn’t have to be a forest. But it would have been great for either a fall or a spring wedding.**

**We can do an in-venue chapel.**

**Or a courthouse.**

**Whatever you want.**

**But you have to decide soon because everything is booked in advance and we might don’t get it.**

 

Patrick shakes his head.

 

_That would be tragic._

 

Apparently, sarcasm eludes this Jonny person.

 

**Right?**

**So what do you say?**

 

Patrick doesn’t know what turns that switch, it happens fast and out of the blue, with no real provocation, but he can feel the anger slow-boiling inside him, getting ready to rise.

 

_I’m saying that this joke has gone far enough and I don’t appreciate being mocked._

 

As he writes it, he catches himself consciously considering that this Jonny dude might be laughing at him this whole time. How had it not occurred to him before? Maybe he is just a dumb blonde after all.

 

**I assure you it’s not a joke.**

**I wouldn’t do that to anyone.**

**People’s feelings are not toys to mess around with.**

**You wound me, Patrick.**

 

_So you go around accepting marriage proposals from strangers all the time then, huh?_

**Of course not. You’re my first wedding proposal, remember?**

**Or maybe you don’t, you were a bit drunk.**

**Anyway, I’m not one to cheat.**

**I’m really committed.**

 

And there it is! The truth finally revealed. Patrick knew it all along! He’s not-engaged to an asylum resident!

 

**One time in hockey camp a boy held my hand and I didn’t let anyone hold it again, not even my maman, till the next summer when he never came back.**

 

The deep laugh that escapes him is so unexpected that Patrick chokes on his water.

 

_Dude! American Pie references? Really?_

 

**Don’t call me dude.**

**Though I’m not opposed to terms of endearment altogether.**

**Uhm… there was no pie. It was hockey camp. Not allowed.**

**It was my first heartbreak. I was 11 I think.**

 

Patrick remembers his first as well. He was about that age, too. Maybe a little younger. It started with starry eyes, went to a similar hand holding and ended when Patrick informed his dad he was gonna marry that frown-y kid because he was awesome at hockey and deserved to have someone make him smile. Also, his eyes reminded Patrick of mud pies.

Needless to say, his dad didn’t like that at all.

The boy played with the older group and Patrick never even got to find out his name. The only thing he remembers now are soft, warm hands and two chocolate buttons.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

Patrick texts and it’s not pity, it’s solidarity.

 

**Thank you. You’re very sweet.**

 

And that’s what he gets for trying to be nice. Random strangers going about thinking he’s sweet when in fact he’s not. Not cute either. Nothing that resembles small, fuzzy animals, ok?

 

_No, I’m not. Shut up. You don’t even know me._

**I’m trying to but you don’t seem ready to open up so I don’t want to push.**

 

Patrick ignores the double entendre and considers putting a stop to this conversation altogether.

 

He doesn’t.

 

_I’m 29. November 19._

_I work as an auditor._

 

Jonny doesn’t text back.

 

***

 

 

Patrick has been in a foul mood since Sunday afternoon for no apparent reason. His coffee tastes like crap, his lunch feels cold and he’s pretty sure he’s coming down with a flu. There’s no other explanation.

Things get worse in the evening when his phone beeps with a text from Jonny and Patrick’s first thought is to ask where the hell has he been for over twenty-four hours.

There’s something deeply wrong with him, he knows it.

 

**Hey, Pat. How are you?**

 

Well, that’s new.

**I’ve been quite busy. I have compiled a file with all possible dates, places and venues and their availability.**

**Keep in mind it’s a rough draught as I don’t have specific parameters.**

**We also need to talk about colour schemes. There are so many options it’s insane!**

**Do take a look, please and get back to me with your preferences.**

**_*attached document*_ **

 

Patrick shakes his head.

 

_Are you still on with that? I thought we talked about it._

 

**I seem to be doing all the talking. You, not so much.**

**Don’t worry, I don’t mind.**

 

“Aww, it’s your hubby, again?” Nick coos. “Good, maybe now you’ll stop being such a grump. Ask him if I can wear white linen if it’s a summer wedding.  It does wonders for my complexion but I don’t want to steal the thunder from one of the grooms.”

Patrick rewards him with one of his dossiers that catches Nick in the calf.

“Ouch, you brute. I think I’ll be one of Jonny’s groomsmen after all.”

Clearly Patrick is the only sane person left in this universe.

 

_Look, I think… This needs to stop. It makes no sense, don’t you get it?_

 

Patrick closes his laptop lid harder than is sensible for such a device and shoves his papers in his bag. He decides to take a shower and wash all this craziness off and clear his head.

Whatever calming effects it had, they vanish as soon as he gets out and comes face to face with Jonny’s messages.

 

**Uhm… I thought…**

**Never mind. I was clearly wrong.**

**I’m sorry.**

**It was… it was nice while it lasted. Thank you.**

**Goodbye, Patrick.**

 

Patrick feels worse than ever, which is absurd because he’s being rational here. How does it happen that he fucks up even when he’s trying to do the right thing?

 

***

 

The next few days are a struggle. Nick keeps shaking his head at him at random moments, Patrick manages to piss off the owner of the company they’re currently auditing and make an intern at their firm cry. He is irritable and snappy and catches himself glaring at his silent phone various times.

Which is insane, because he definitely doesn’t miss the weird texts from the deranged stranger and he does not feel guilty that perhaps somewhere out there is a person who feels abandoned, having his hopes and dreams crushed?

This heavy load is not on Patrick’s shoulders. What should he have done? Go along with this charade and plan his dream wedding to a person he might have nothing in common with, who might be batshit crazy or worse just because… because… Patrick doesn’t know enough words to describe this.

Excuse him for not thinking he’s living in some archaic fairy tale where people get married to someone they only meet at the altar and they still manage to live happily ever after. If he were that lucky he wouldn’t have been single at 29.

 

On Thursday night he finally breaks.

 

_Why would you want to marry me, anyway?_

 

He types and quickly hits the send button even if he knows he already regrets the whole thing.

 

 

It takes Jonny half an hour to reply and Patrick open the text with his heart on his throat.

 

**You seemed nice. Not prone to violence, not alcohol dependant -apart from that one time-, mature, sensible and dependable.**

**What more could I ask for?**

 

Patrick nibbles on his bottom lip while his shaking fingers trying to type.

 

_What about love?_

 

He hits send and releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

The first reply comes straight away this time.

 

**Lust comes easy, not love.**

 

Followed by

**Love is something you grow over time.**

**You plan a seed, water and care for it and in the end it blossoms.**

**Very rarely it doesn’t, but at least you’ve tried.**

**That’s the beauty of nature.**

 

***

So maybe Patrick spends his Friday night going over Jonny’s file instead of going out with his friends. What of it?

He did enough drinking last week and look where it got him.

Then again, where he is now is not that bad really. Maybe Jonny has a point. Everyone is a stranger at the beginning. Maybe companionship and compatibility is better than falling head over heels and walking in the clouds until you crush and burn.

But can his heart handle one more disappointment? Is he brave enough to take that leap of faith and if so where would it land him?

 

_I was raised Catholic but I’m not really practicing._

 

He sends in the end.

 

_I would still like a priest._

_I look good in light blue. It brings out my eyes, or so they say._

_In black, too._

_I like sunsets._

 

He pauses for a few seconds, biting his nails in an attempt to do what he doesn’t know. He has already made his decision, hasn’t he?

 

_I snore sometimes._

_I hog the remote._

_The covers, too. I get cold easily._

 

That’s enough for now, he gathers; maybe even pointless, if Jonny has already given up on him. Not that Patrick would blame him, really.

His phone pings and Patrick dreads looking at it. Maybe all he gets is a well deserved fuck you. He can’t help but hope for more, though.

 

He takes a deep breath and picks the phone up.

 

**Light blue linen works for me as well.**

 

Patrick thinks that’s a good sign. It gets even better when the texts keep coming.

 

**Sunsets are beautiful.**

**I breathe heavy.**

**I grew up in Canada, I don’t mind the cold.**

**I’m messy.**

 

Patrick bites his lip to stop the smile that threatens to take over his face. He’s also not quite sure where to go from here.

Jonny saves him from the ordeal because apparently he is that awesome.

 

**What is your favourite flower?**

 

Patrick takes it back. Jonny is the worst. How in the hell should he know? He can name maybe three flowers and he cares not for any of them.

He quickly googles “most popular wedding flowers” and promptly dismisses the first two. Roses are trite and what the hell even is a tulip.

Lilies at least he knows because he remembers Erica’s corsage and he seems to recall it being pretty.

 

_Um… I don’t really know much about flowers. Lilies maybe? Or are they too clichéd?_

**Lilies are lovely, Patrick.**

**Mine is the Cymbidium Orchid**

 

Before Patrick can even form the words ‘what the hell’, Jonny sends him a link. Patrick taps on it without thinking. He mentally kicks himself in the ass for following an unknown link from a stranger. It could be a virus or a hack.

How can he be this stupid really? Where did his trust issues go? He wants them back. They were some kind of comfort.

Fortunately, his recklessness doesn’t get him into trouble. It just takes him to a google image page filled with picture upon picture of Jonny’s favourite flower.

 

_The orange ones are quite pretty._

 

At least he hopes he got the colour right, with all this modern-day hues he can’t be certain.

 

**Really?**

 

Is Patrick imagining things or does Jonny sound insecure about a bunch of plants?

 

_Yeah._

**Great! They’ll complement the blue nicely, I think.**

**Wait a second.**

**Here.**

 

There’s another link and then another.

This time the flowers tag says blue stargazer lilies though there are a bunch of colour variations.

The next one is an image of a bouquet of orange and blue flowers. Patrick may, possibly falls a little bit in love.

With the flowers, of course. Not with the stranger who is definitely not his fiancé.

 

***

Patrick spends his whole weekend exchanging messages with Jonny. By Sunday night Nick’s looking at him weirdly but he can’t really be bothered. He has more pressing matters to deal with like what in the hell are these kraft paper wedding invitations.

Luckily, his lovely (yes, shut up he uses words like lovely now) not-fiancé provides him with the link.

Every time. For the course of the following week.

With the venues (to which they still haven’t agreed on, the rings (which Jonny insisted on paying for) and the suits (thankfully they both decide to forgo the ties).

Patrick in return sends Jonny a link to his favourite show (that Jonny hasn’t even heard of and that’s a crime to good television) and Jonny agrees to watch a couple of episodes ‘with’ him.

In exchange Patrick manages to go through more than half of a gardening documentary on Netflix (that Jonny provides the link for of course). If Patrick falls asleep before it is over no one has to know. They’ve already texted their good nights.

 

***

 

By Monday of what is about to be their fourth week doing this… whatever, Patrick thinks he might be text dating Jonny.

He feels the only thing he doesn’t know about him by now is the way he looks. He was tempted to ask a couple of times but found he doesn’t really care that much. That was a weird revelation to have and Patrick doesn’t want to ponder on it because then maybe he’ll get drown in feelings and he’s not sure he’s ready to come to terms with it.

All that really matters is that he’s feeling lighter and, dare he admit, even happier than he has been in a long time.

And if he takes a break from work to take advantage of auditing a greenhouse company to go down and take a couple of pictures to send Jonny it’s really no one’s business but his own.

 

What he gets though, is bitterness and disappointment when he’s faced with a lot of seeds and greenery. And dirt. Has he mentioned the dirt?

He didn’t have any expectations to begin with but he did imagine something completely different. Is this what Jonny likes to do? It seems awfully messy. Then again, Jonny did warn him he’s untidy and that he likes to work with his hands.

[And no, Patrick’s mind did not go to dark, filthy corners filled with sweat, come and breathless moans... crinkly sheets, back scratching and a lot of writhing on Patrick’s part.

 It. Did. Not.]

 

 

He snaps a couple of pictures and is ready to head back to work when something in the far corner catches his eyes. He harries that way and what he sees leaves him speechless.

He feels like he’s transported in a fairy tale, with the way the oval glass envelops a fair amount of dirt. Sure, the glass is a bit blurry, kind of like the windows get when it’s raining, but it seems like it was taken out from Beauty and the Beast.

But the glass case is empty. There is no flower. It’s like the time has run out and the Beast didn’t make it after all.

For a second Patrick thinks his eyes are misting over until he takes a closer look and notices a tiny bit of green trying to make its way out.

He beams down at it and snaps a quick picture. This Jonny definitely has to see.

He tucks his phone away and hesitantly raises his right hand to touch the glass.

“It’s a blue stargazer lily.”

A gravelly voice says from somewhere above his shoulder that makes Patrick jump startled, extended hand retrieved and placed upon his frantically beating heart.

“I’m growing it for my fiancé.” The stranger keeps talking not paying Patrick’s impending heart attack any mind. “It’s his favourite.”

It feels like forever before Patrick can put himself together and control his racing heartbeat but when he does he turns and looks...up to the strange invader of his personal space bubble.

He meets a tender smile and warm brown eyes that have something familiar Patrick can’t place, which is impossible because the stranger’s face tells him nothing at all.

He shakes his head to clear his mind, resulting in one of his unruly curls to fall on his forehead. Before he even attempts to push it away warm fingers tuck it gently back in place.

The stranger’s eyes lock with his once again. He opens his mouth to say something, apologise or whatever but the dark haired man beats him to it.

“Hello, Patrick.” He says in a low, soft tone and this time it leaves Patrick bewildered.

“Um... do I know you?” He hates the fact that his voice is laced with uncertainty and a sliver of fear.

The man smirks. “I guess you kind of do a little.” He replies and why does this feel like déjà vu?.

 “Uhm..”

“So, do you like it?” The tall, dark and handsome (shut up he’s confused not blind) asks gesturing towards the glass case.

Patrick follows the motion then he returns his gaze to the stranger and in a blink of an eye all the pieces fall together, forming a crystal clear image.

“Jo- Jonny?” He mutters.

The _not_ -stranger nods beaming down at him.

“But- but how?” How is he here, how does he know who he is, who is this happening? How?

“Nick.” Is the only thing that Jonny offers but it still doesn’t make sense to him. Not at all.

Everything is fuzzy in his head, worse than any hangover he has ever experienced because then he at least knew what was going on and had all the answers.

The silence stretches and slowly but surely he watches Jonny’s smile disappear from his face.

Panic rises inside him when Jonny’s lips open to form words.

“Maybe this was-“

Patrick shakes his head vehemently, refusing to let Jonny finish. Whatever the end of that sentence is he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it.

“So,” he says trying to raise his voice and keep it steady at the same time. “This,” he gestures at the glass case.

Jonny nods even if there hasn’t been a question yet.

Patrick swallows the lump in his throat. “For me?”

Jonny nods again and his lips seem to twitch upright.

“Uhm... it’s... Lovely.” He stammers. He clears his throat and tries again. “It’s lovely. - - Thank you.” He adds as an afterthought and gives Jonny a bashful half-smile.

Jonny beams at him and Patrick feels butterflies do summersaults in his stomach.

He doesn’t know what possesses him but he leans closer, goes on his tiptoes and lightly grazes his lips to Jonny’s.

They’re soft and silky and Patrick likes the feeling.

“ _Patrick_.” Jonny breathlessly saying his name might be Patrick’s undoing and everything is still too hazy for him to make any kind of decision.

“Ehm, so, I... Work... I have...”

Jonny shuts his eyes, lets out a deep guttural sigh and finally nods.

Patrick hightails out of there but not before sparing a quick glance back at Jonny whose shoulders are slumped and still sits there with his eyes closed as if he doesn’t want to see him walk away.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four weeks later, Patrick finally decides to bite the bullet.

 

“Ok, I guess a spring forest wedding would be nice.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://oflovesandlikes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
